Tzeentch is my Master and Magic my Mistress
by Satsuki the Vision
Summary: Hellebron, a powerful sorceress, reflects on her life as she enters into the cabal


Tzeentch is my Master, Magic my Mistress. Those were the words that I had spoken to the assembled cabal when I became part of their ranks, when I joined Chaos and the Changer of the Ways. I will not turn from the path of the Spinner of Fate, the Weaver of Time. I am an instrument to be used to further His ends, be they fair or foul for me.  
  
I was presented with the cabal's colours, a red and black silk cloak that was interlaced with small ivory skulls and to wear the cloth over my shoulders with pride. I also received on that dark day my ceremonial staff and my true name from the master sorcerer of the cabal, Ahriman.  
  
"From this day forth you are to be called Hellebron, the One Who Bares Her Fangs To The False Emperor," the traitorous Thousand Sons Chaos Space Marine intoned, marking my forehead with sacred blood from a golden goblet. "You will serve the cabal and Tzeentch in whatever way is deemed necessary of you, even if it means your death. Rise and take your place within our ranks, Hellebron." I bowed low to Ahriman, concealing a feral smile.  
  
Old fool, I thought, you do not understand the monster you have created today You indeed have raised me up ever since I was a child on that pathetic Imperial backwater world; you indeed saved me from the Black Ships of the Inquisition and you imparted to me all your knowledge because I was your star pupil, your apprentice. But you have made the mistake of not following my own actions more closely, my own scheming in the shadows. I learned from you, the master, and as such I have become better than you ever will at concealing my motives. Already I have become a sorceress, now allowed to raise my own banner and gather my own Chaos Space Marines to follow me, even if in the grand whole I must still follow you.  
  
But not for long dear Ahriman.  
  
I plan to turn from you and strike out on my own with my own forces; I will bear the Mark of Tzeentch and raise hordes of daemons to follow my will. I shan't be under your heel for much longer. I remember the long hours that you spent tutoring me until I was ready to cry from sheer exhaustion, the times when I would feel the biting sting of your hand against my face when I forgot a certain spell or incantation, or when I had done something to displease you. But I shall repay you in kind, sorcerer Ahriman. You taught me your spells and I have added to them, you gave me artifacts that you did not know what to make of but I have unlocked, given me the power to summon the Lords of Change from the essence of Chaos itself. I will use these against you one day, if that day is still far from now.  
  
Why, you might ask when I have your broken and bloodied body carted before me, why would I do this to you for one who has given so much to me?  
  
Because I want power, the same power that you hold. And I am vindictive and merciless enough to take it from you. I will torture you as you have done to me, I will break you for all those times you humiliated me and I will march you through the streets of my daemon worlds and execute you in front of your followers to show them who has become the stronger, the one that will be obeyed. Then and only then will I have everything that you had, that was rightfully mine from the beginning when you took me as your apprentice. You planted the seed inside of me that germinated into an obsession for the occult, for the power to hold all of the galaxy's magic at my fingertips. And I will have it, come what may. The only compliment you ever truly gave me that was worth remembering was that I was ruthless to a fault.  
  
And so now I join the ranks of your sorcerers, secretly planning your downfall while smiling innocently enough into your eyes. Do you know what type of monster you have created on this day, dear Ahriman? No, I don't believe you know and when I do turn, it will be all the more fun to see the expression on your pale face, the horror in your twisted features.  
  
As I walked away from my first cabal meeting that day, I made a secret pact between the Father of Magic and myself. Tzeentch is my Master, Magic my Mistress. But I serve no mortal save myself and care not for the plight of the galaxy. No one weeps for me, and I shall not weep for them. I will bury all who dare oppose my will, and the name Hellebron will be coupled with the word dread to the people who serve both the weakling Emperor or the other Dark Powers of Chaos. 


End file.
